


Sweet Will be the Flower

by dozierosieposie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Best Friends, Buddies, Depression, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nursey Week, Nursey Week 2019, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 01:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18001511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozierosieposie/pseuds/dozierosieposie
Summary: He tries to sit up, but his bones are heavy, his movements sluggish. He manages to reach his phone, and has to check what day it is, because he can’t remember.“Nursey!” calls a familiar, cheerful voice, “Open up! We’re going on an adventure!”Nursey struggles, but his friends are there to pick him up. He just needs to learn to let them in.Or The Frogs' Trip to a Pottery Workshop.





	Sweet Will be the Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Tried to get this up for Nursey week but uni was a wild ride up till now so nope. enjoy this 14 page crafting saga featuring fun times and a gratuitous self-insert. I used to work at a pottery workshop, and this fic was born during a particularly long shift. Pottery Girl? Who is she? 
> 
> tw: mental health, descriptions of depression.

He wakes up, and its still dark.

There’s no light coming through Derek’s bedroom window.

He tries to sit up, but his bones are heavy, his movements sluggish. He manages to reach his phone, and has to check what day it is, because he can’t remember. The bright garish light of his phone is possibly worse than the dark; it stings his eyes. Tuesday. Today is Tuesday. No morning practice. Good. He doesn’t think he could get out of bed. He’s already exhausted by simply looking at his phone. He tosses it back onto his dresser, rolls over, and goes back to sleep.

When he next wakes, it’s light, and there’s banging on his door.

“Nursey!” calls a familiar, cheerful voice, “Open up! We’re going on an adventure!”

Derek mashes his palms into his eyes, hoping that Chowder will go away. It’s not that he doesn’t want to see him. He’s only known Chowder a few months, but he loves him, the dude is the best friend he’s ever had. But he just can’t _do this,_ not right now. He waits, hoping C will think he’s out.

“Nursey!” Chowder calls again. There’s a murmur, a quieter, deeper voice that Derek can’t really hear, and Chowder’s louder voice says, “Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to wait for him!”

Derek groans inwardly. Slowly, he peels back his blankets, trying to pull himself upright. His body isn’t having it though, and it takes several long minutes to get his feet on the floor. He shuffles monotonously to the door. _I’ll tell C I’m sick,_ he thinks, _and then I can go back to bed._

Chowder is waiting outside the door, grinning and all but bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s dressed for the weather, in a blue beanie, a thick denim jacket pulled on over his Sharks hoodie. Next to him, wearing a worn, warm-looking flannel and jacket, hands shoved deep in his pockets, is Dex. He looks uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot, a frown knitting his brows.

When Chowder sees Derek, his grin fades a little. Even Dex looks surprised. Derek thinks of what he must look like; hair mussed from sleep, worn, loose shirt and pyjama bottoms. He doesn’t know what his face is doing, but from the effort it’s taking him to remain on his feet, he assumes it isn’t good.

“Nursey?” Chowder says slowly, “Are you okay? Did you get my texts?”

Derek tries to steel his face into something that resembles ease. “Shit, sorry bro, I must’ve slept in. Think I’ve caught something. What time is it?” he tries so hard to keep his voice light and neutral. Dex raises his eyebrows.

“It’s gone noon.” He says, and there’s a hint of judgement in his voice that Derek can’t deal with today, he just can’t. “Did you even go to class?”

“Um, no? I only have one class today, so I guess I could afford to miss it?”

Dex rolls his eyes. “Of course you could.” Derek feels himself sag. He sinks further into his own head, and he bets it shows on his face.

Chowder is looking at him intently. Derek likes to call that look _goalie eyes_ , but he can’t bring himself to say it today.

“Hey Dex,” Chowder says, “I think maybe we all could do with something to drink, yeah? Think you’d mind doing a coffee run? I’ll pay you back, if that’s cool.”

Dex looks from him to Derek, a confused frown on his face. There’s something else there – is it concern? – no, it couldn’t be. A second later, Dex just huffs and says, “Sure, C. I’ll be back in like twenty.” He ambles off down the hall as Chowder moves forward into Derek’s room. He shuts the door behind him. He’s always been good at making himself welcome, which is something Derek loves about him, but not today.

Derek rearranges his face again. “Hey man, I don’t need coffee or anything. I’m just feeling really sick – can whatever you needed wait till tomorrow?”

“Nursey,” Chowder says gently, worry painted on his features, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Well, I mean, I’m sick, but-“

“Not physically.” Chowder interjects, “Nurse, I’ve taken care of you when you’re sick, remember? When you got fresher’s flu. You didn’t look like this. This is different. You look… you look _sad._ Talk to me, please?”

His eyes are wide and pleading. Godammit. Derek crosses to his bed and sinks onto it, his feet hanging over the side.

“I guess,” he says slowly, “It’s just one of those days, y’know? I woke up, and it was dark outside and… bam. Gotta love that seasonal depression.”

Chowder knows that Derek’s on antidepressants. Despite only knowing each other since June, the two had become remarkably close, keeping in touch over text and Snapchat all summer. The start of the semester just saw them bond even more, sharing secrets and lunches and the occasional hoodie. But this is the first time that Chowder’s seen Derek during one of his episodes. He had been hoping that this wouldn’t happen, but its’ not like he can go back. He hates keeping things from his buddy.

Chowder drops onto the bed beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It didn’t start up till this morning, and I just went back to sleep. Then I woke up to you guys, and I dunno, I didn’t wanna cause a fuss. Definitely didn’t wanna say anything in front of Dex.”

“I figured that.” Says Chowder, nodding. “What can I do?”

Derek shrugs. “Not much you can do. I just need to be left alone till I shake it off, I guess.”

“Bullshit.” Derek looks up at the sharpness in his friend’s voice. “Sorry. I just mean, I know that being left on your own isn’t gonna make it better. Hell, it’ll probably make it worse. Don’t push me away Nurse. I’m your best friend. I sure as hell ain’t going anywhere, and I want to help you.”

Derek balks. He hadn’t expected Chowder to fight him on this. He thought Chowder would respect what he said, to get up and leave him alone, but he knows in his heart that that isn’t what he wants. His moms have often reminded him that he pushes people away when his depression hits, acts like he wants to be left alone, when in reality, he needs help to get through times like these. He sighs.

“Okay.” He says softly, and when Chowder opens his arms, Derek leans into them gladly. Chowder is warm, the sleeves of his hoodie soft and poofy. Sitting like this, Derek can rest his head on Chowder’s shoulder, and his friend rubs slow gentle circles on his back.

“Okay,” Chowder says slowly, “So, I had a surprise for you guys, I found this amazing place for us to go, it’s- well, I wanted to keep it a surprise but…” Derek’s heart clenches, a gut reaction.

“C, I don’t know,” he says into his shoulder, “You staying is one thing, but I don’t know if I wanna go out, much less with _Dex,_ not like this, I-“ he cuts off, his voice failing him.

“I hear you,” Chowder rubs his shoulders, “I do. But hear me now okay?” Derek says nothing, just nods.

“I will totally understand if you still wanna stay here after I say this, and if you do, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll put on a comfort movie, just you and me. But I dunno, man, I really think you should get out of this room? Some fresh air, a change of scene, well those would be what I would want if I was in a drop. But, I mean I know you aren’t me, so of course you don’t have to want the same things…” Derek can see him starting to ramble, but he keeps listening. “I guess I just feel like you need something that isn’t in your regular routine; not school or hockey. It might be enough to pull you out of your head? And if it isn’t, it still might not hurt to try? Or maybe it will, shit I don’t know I’m really not sure what to do now, I’m sorry man I feel like such a dummy…”

He trails off, but Derek has sat up and he’s looking Chowder in the eyes. For all that the rest of the team like to baby Chowder (elusive racism at work, Derek thinks), the dude has a quiet wisdom about him that Derek can’t help but respect.

But his friend looks apprehensive and unsure of himself, like he’s worried he’s made it worse. But something in Derek’s face must steer him on, as he sets his face, determinately staring back at Derek.

_Goalie eyes._

“I found a mega cool place, Nurse, I really think you’ll like it dude. A-and if you’re worried about Dex, I promise I will personally make sure he doesn’t give you any shit today. I swear dude. But also he’s been pretty chill recently, but he’d totally kill me for saying that, I think maybe we’re rubbing off on him where was I going I had a point.” He stops himself and looks back at Derek again. “What I’m saying is, you should at least try and get dressed. Why don’t you have a shower, and I’ll grab you some clothes and we’ll see how you feel from there?” He’s looking hopeful, and hesitant, worry that Derek will say no plain on his painfully open face. Derek can’t help but feel his chest warm ever so slightly. He sighs.

“Okay. We’ll see how it goes.” Chowder’s face lights up like a Christmas tree at Derek’s response.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Chowder all but leaps at him to smother him in another, more eager squeeze. Derek doesn’t mind. Chowder’s special. Despite the enthusiasm of the embrace, Chowder is still gentle with him, placing soft hands on his arms.

“You wanna have a shower? I’ll wait here, and I’ll pick you out something to wear? I know where your clothes are.”

“Of course you do.” Derek says dryly. Chowder grins happily.

“Today’s a day for comfy clothes, I think.”

“Definitely agree.” For all that Derek is on board for whatever is making Chowder so excited, he still feels lethargic, and getting up from his bed proves to be another hoop that he doesn’t feel able to jump through. His body remains rooted to his mattress, exhaustion seeping back into his bones.

But Chowder’s there once more, jumping up and holding out his hands for Derek take. Gently, he pulls Derek up and lets him lean into his touch. He guides him slowly to the en-suite bathroom, grabbing a towel off the radiator. In the bathroom, he turns on the shower and turns back to Derek.

“Hey, look at me, bud.” His voice is soft, “You can do this, man. I believe in you.”

Somehow, those simple words startle him, and they ease some energy back into his bones. Not much, but some. He nods, and Chowder heads back into the bedroom, brushing Derek’s arm with his hand as he goes.

It takes a while, but Derek manages to shower, soap himself up, letting the smell of peppermint and cedarwood soak into his skin, work its way into his nostrils. It’s something pleasant, to focus on, if nothing else. He tries to imagine the soap, the scent, washing away the pain, the fear, the aching heaviness on his back, leaving him light, free and clear. It’s one of his therapist’s tricks for him to use when he gets like this. It doesn’t really work this time, but at least he can tell her he gave it a go.

When he emerges, steam rolling off his skin, he wraps his fluffy purple towel around his shoulders instead of around his waist, like a little kid. He breathes for a moment, two, before he opens the bathroom door.

Chowder looks up from frowning at his phone. He jumps up and takes the pile of pyjamas from Derek, tucks them under his pillow. “Hey, dude! I got you some clothes out, yeah?”

Chowder’s made the bed, drawn open the curtains, even dumped the rubbish that had littered the floor in the wastepaper basket. Just these small tasks, that had seemed impossible to Derek, make his mind feel a touch clearer. On the bed, Chowder has laid out loose, washed out jeans, an orange t-shirt, and a woolly blue cardigan. Derek raises his eyebrows.

“Really, C? That shirt with that cardi?”

Chowder’s eyes glint. “There’s the Nursey I know and love.”

Derek snorts and pulls a worn grey Henley out of his wardrobe, and starts to get dressed. Chowder watches him, looking uncertain.

“What are we thinkin’?”

Derek stands up from pulling on his socks. The jeans are one of his favourite pairs, the knees patched up by his sister with blue flowery fabric after he had scraped them to shreds. The cardigan was knitted for him by his mama – its wool is soft and smells slightly of their living room, of jasmine and cumin. He fiddles with one of the large wooden buttons. The clothes are utterly of home, love woven into every thread. When he raises the sleeve of his cardi to his nose, he swears he can hear his mama’s laugh, feel his mom’s hand on his cheek. It pulls a smile out of him, a small, happy sigh. Maybe…

“Alright.” He says softly, “Let’s go out.”

“Really?” Chowder’s smile glints, his braces on full view.

“Yeah,” Derek smiles slightly, “It would be a shame to waste an outfit like this on just the inside of my room.”

Chowder laughs, and steps towards him. “It’s totes missing something though.” He whips the pale blue beanie off his own head and pulls it down over Derek’s ears, mindful not to muss up his hair too much. “There, now you’re good.”

““Totes”? C, really?”

“You love me.”

Derek shrugs. “Sad but true.”

Chowder’s eyes flash worriedly. “Sad?”

“Yeah, dude, the truth is I’m secretly in love with you and am burdened with the daily pain that you are unfortunately straight.”

Chowder smiles. “Sorry.”

“Oh my god, C, are you really apologising right now for the fact that you’re heterosexual-“

Chowder is cackling, and even Derek is cracking a small smile when Dex walks through the door, three Annie’s coffee cups in his hands.

“Uh,” he says uncertainly, “Everything cool here?”

Derek is quiet now that Dex is here. He’s suddenly exposed, raw without the comforting shell of his blankets. He’s tired again, and the bedsheets look so inviting. Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Going out with depression is something Derek avoids, not jumps at as soon as his new friend comes knocking. What does Chowder know? He’s known him all of two seconds, he shouldn’t be asking Derek to go off galivanting like this, and Derek shouldn’t be agreeing. He should be listening to his body, and his body just wants to _sleep-_

“Woah, Nursey, you okay bro?”

Dex’s voice cuts through the noise in his head, and Derek realises he’s staring at the floor, his breathing starting to come out ragged and raw. Chowder’s hand is suddenly there, at his elbow.

“We don’t have to do this, Nursey.” He says delicately, “We can order pizza and watch The Last Airbender.”

“I hope you don’t mean the movie.” Derek’s breathing starts to mellow, as he focuses on the hand on his arm.

Chowder looks at him, disgust on his face. “I am _offended_ you would even think that.”

“Haha. Okay.” Chowder’s watching his face for an answer, but he looks instead at Dex. There’s something in his expression, Derek doesn’t know what it is. His eyebrows are knitted and his lips are thin. To Derek, it feels like a challenge. He raises his chin. He isn’t going to let Poindexter see this part of him.

“Let’s go. I wanna see this mystery place Chowder has for us.”

“You sure? You don’t look so good.” Dex’s eyebrows are raised.

“I’m _fine,_ Poindexter. You gonna be a drag on my ass all day?”

Dex’s expression hardens. Derek curses himself inwardly. They’ve been trying to get along, for Chowder’s sake, God knows Derek doesn’t wanna make that dude cry _again._ He hadn’t meant for his words to come out so cutting, but then again he doesn’t mean for Dex’s presence to grate on him so much, either.

Dex is turning towards the door. “C’mon, let’s just go,” he says shortly, “Get this over with.”

Chowder seems to be trying to ignore the tense atmosphere that has entered the room. “Aw, I really hope you guys love it! We’re gonna have a totally ‘swawesome time!”

Dex snorts, and some tension seems to leave his shoulders. “Sure, C. Here.” He shoves a coffee cup at Chowder, but when he moves to hand Derek his, the motion is softer, less jostling, more hesitant, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare Derek. Derek accepts the cup and takes a small sip. There’s a hint of caramel in the latte, and- is that cinnamon? He’s surprised Dex remembered his favourite drink. He smiles despite himself.

“Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?” Dex clears his throat

“Just forget it.”

“You sure?” Once again, Dex is being very not-Dex-like. He just waves a hand and opens the door.

“Yeah, dude, just buy me one of those killer bakewell slices next time we’re at Annies, yeah?” Derek nods.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road!” Chowder jumps towards the door, but stops at the last second, turning back to Derek. “Hey man, don’t forget a scarf and coat, yeah? It’s chilly out there.”

“God, okay mom.” Derek huffs but he grabs the items off a hook by the door as they head out the door.

“You watch it, mister,” Chowder wags a finger, using his best mom voice, and Derek laughs. Dex cracks a smile too.

“You are _such_ a Californian, C.” he laughs while Derek locks his door. He looks slightly alarmed when Chowder turns the wagging finger on him.

“When you come down with a cold, don’t expect me to be banging on your door with chicken soup, Dexy.”

“I don’t get colds,” Dex says, his nose in the air, “I’ve got a great immune system.”

“That is such a lie, Poindexter.” Derek chirps lightly, and instead of snapping, Dex laughs sheepishly.

“Yeah, it might be.”

“It’s okay, Dex, if you do get sick, I’ll still come take care of you!” says Chowder.

“I won’t.” says Derek.

“Fuck you Nurse.”

Chowder cackles and slings an energetic arm around Dex’s shoulders, and Dex nearly spills his coffee. Derek watches them, and he can almost believe that today is a normal day. He can almost ignore the tugging, heavy weight of nerves in the pit of his stomach. He can almost pretend that he’s fine, that his body isn’t already begging for the release of sleep and unconsciousness.

Almost.

He’s back in his own head, but Chowder suddenly stops, realising that Derek has fallen a few steps behind them. He reaches out a hand, and it takes Derek a few moments to notice it. He lets Chowder gently slip his fingers in between his own. His hand is warm, comforting, grounding. Derek lets the presence of the hand bring him back to the outside. Dex raises his eyebrows at the affectionate gesture, but he says nothing, continuing to let Chowder have an arm slung around his waist.

They head out into the crisp open air like that, the door to Derek’s dorm block blowing open and assaulting them all with a chill breeze. Derek likes the way the cold bites his nose, the air coursing through his head when he breathes in. Dex wriggles out of Chowder’s embrace as they step outside, gruffly shoving his hands into his pockets, but Derek and Chowder keep their hands together, and Chowder swings them slightly as they walk down towards town.

Chowder turns towards him. “Oh, and Nursey?” Then, with mock solemnity; “I’m sorry that I’m heterosexual.”

Dex’s monotonous “What,” mixes with Derek’s “You fucking should be,” and Chowder laughs.

*

They’re halfway down the street when Derek stops suddenly.

“Nursey?” Chowder says cautiously, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I… I- um-“ he’s struggling to find words, and they’re coming out breathless and high, “I, um. I think- I forgot to lock my door.”

It’s such a small, stupid thing, but Nursey’s mind is racing, panic starting to flood his senses. He thinks Chowder and Dex are still there, thinks maybe Dex is approaching slightly, but he can’t be sure. He can barely see them, through the blurred veil settling over his eyes. He needs to go back.

“I don’t think I locked it, shit – I-I need to go back, I-“ his hands are shaking.

“Nursey.”

The voice that cuts through the haze isn’t Chowder’s, like he may have expected. It’s deeper, rougher. Dex.

“Nursey, hey, man. Look at me okay?” Derek tries to raise his head, and meets gold eyes. Dex raises his hand, and when Derek doesn’t flinch away, he settles it on his shoulder.

“I saw you lock your door, Nurse. I watched you do it.”

“You-you did?”

Dex nods. “You shut the door, you locked it, and then you put the key in your pocket. I watched the whole thing, man.”

Now that Dex says it, Derek has a faint memory of doing just that. He pats his coat pocket, feels his keys jangle.

“We can go back if you need to,” Chowder says next to him.

Derek blinks back his tears, looking back into Dex’s determined eyes. “No. I-if you say I locked it, then I did.”

Dex nods once, and takes his hand away from Derek’s shoulder. Derek almost misses the firm grasp. Dex puts his hands back in his pockets and keeps walking as if nothing had happened, but his face looks lighter than it had before.

The rest of the way, Chowder and Dex discuss the newest episode of the Walking Dead, and Derek is content to listen to the rise and fall of their voices as he walks along beside them.

*

Chowder guides them off campus and into Samwell’s town centre. On a Tuesday afternoon, the square is quiet and untroubled. A single, large oak tree stands proudly in the centre of the square, and its leaves flutter pleasantly in the breeze, glowing bronze in the October light. It casts a gold reflection in the puddles littering the cobblestones.

He’s seen the Samwell tree so many times by now, but it makes Derek’s heart warm, and he feels a sudden rush of gratitude towards Chowder for dragging him out, if only just to see the way the leaves fade from yellow into deep crimson. It makes him itch for a pen, and the feeling surprises him. He rarely feels like writing during these kinds of days – the blankness of the paper is all too daunting and terrifying. But he wants to capture the way the leaves float to the damp cobblestones, the way the breeze reminds him of Chowder’s laugh, the way the colour of the leaves makes him think automatically of Dex’s hair.

All too soon, Chowder is dragging him away from the square, down one of the sidestreets. He’s damn near bouncing on the balls of his feet, pulling on both Dex and Derek’s sleeves. Dex catches Derek’s eye, his eyes exasperated but fond, mouth turned up at the corners. Derek feels a rush of affection.

Finally, Chowder lets them go and stands expectantly at the door of a pale blue shop front. _Wellie’s Pottery,_ reads the sign above in curling, pleasing letters. Inside the window, Derek sees a little girl and boy, laughing, paintbrushes clutched in their tiny hands.

“C,” Dex sounds very done, “You dragged us out here… to _buy pottery?_ ”

“Not buy,” Derek says slowly, “Paint.”

Dex turns to him with a horrified expression on his face.

“I found this place on one of my walks last week!” Chowder says happily, “You literally just paint pottery!”

“What?” says Dex.

“I did this once with my mama,” Derek says, then adds, “When I was little. She got me to put my handprint on a plate, and then we painted it to look like an elephant.” He raises his sleeve to his nose again, inhaling jasmine.

Dex has shoved his hands into his pockets again. “I don’t paint.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Don’t or won’t?”

“Shit, Nurse,” Dex says, irritated, “I _can’t,_ okay? I can’t paint.”

“Well, you don’t have to be great at painting do this, that’s what’s so great about it.” Chowder’s face is suddenly tentative, and Derek feels a stab of anger towards Dex, “Like, they have stamps and stuff.”

“Jesus,” Dex crosses his arms roughly. He doesn’t see Chowder flinch, but Derek does, “Look, I just, don’t have the money to throw on this kind of shit, okay?”

“The cups start at like five dollars,” Chowder counters, his voice almost a whisper, “I’m sorry, did I pick the wrong thing?”

Derek is ready to throw himself in between the two of them, remembering a night last month, with raised voices and Chowder’s frightened eyes in the dark, but Dex’s face suddenly softens at Chowder’s voice. He looks regretful now, his eyes losing the angry glint they are so often filled with. He uncrosses his arms and moves toward Chowder slightly.

“Hey, no man. You didn’t pick the wrong thing,” his voice is gentle, his face almost imploring Chowder to look up at him, “I’m sorry, I just get a bit jumpy about this sorta stuff, but five dollars is fine. And you guys can just have fun chirping me about whatever shitshow I paint on my piece, yeah?”

Chowder glances up, and relaxes when he sees Dex’s face, “You aren’t mad?”

“Nah, man. I’m not mad.” The last sentence is so soft, much softer than Derek ever could have expected of Dex. He’s only ever seen him like this once before, and he wonders if Dex is thinking of the same night that he is.

The tension leaves Chowder’s shoulders, and he gives them both a small smile. “Okay.” Dex smiles back, and so does Derek.

They troop inside, Dex and Nursey having to duck their heads to get through the door. The shop is welcomingly warm. A shelf of cream porcelain lines one wall, all sorts of different shapes and sizes. There’s a girl at the counter refilling tall bottles of paint in pastel colours, and she rushes forward to meet them, brushing off her painty fingers on her billowy skirt. She must be about their age, with big brown eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses, half of her dark hair pulled up, the rest falling in gentle ringlets around her shoulders. She looks ever so slightly shocked to find three massive hockey players standing in a pottery workshop, and honestly, Derek can’t blame her. This is not the place he imagined he’d be today, but… if it makes Chowder happy, he’ll give it a go.

“Hi!” Chowder says brightly, “I booked us in here this afternoon, my name’s Chris Chow? Sorry we’re a bit late, but…”

“Oh!” the girl says, and can Derek see a slight blush on her cheeks? “Don’t worry about that, we’re dead quiet today anyway! I’ve popped you in by the window if that’s okay?”

“Swawesome!” the girl’s eyes widen, and Derek has a sneaking suspicion, albeit only slight. This girl is a Samwell student, and she’s heard that before.

“So, we just drop our coats and then go pick something from the shelf?” Chowder continues.

“Yeah,” Pottery Girl says, “But those ones are just for display, so if you tell me what you pick I’ll grab the proper ones out the cupboard, okay?”

“Okay!” they drape their coats over the chairs at the table Pottery Girl indicated, and then move to the shelf.

There is… a lot of pottery. Derek doesn’t know how he’s going to choose. The left side of the wall holds an immeasurable variety of plates, bowls and mugs, some simple and blank, others already ornately carved, with designs cut into the bisques. The right side, however, holds an array of figurines. Fairies smile out at him, sitting on the shelf with their pale blank faces and floaty pottery dresses. An assortment of cartoonish animals sit on the lowest shelf. Money boxes in the shape of diggers and footballs. Derek finds the figures a little creepy, but he doesn’t say that in front of Pottery Girl.

He’s staring at the shelf while Chowder and Dex discuss their options.

“What about the dinosaur mug, Dex?” Chowder’s voice has a hint of mischief hidden in it.

“Fuck off, Chow.” Derek hears Chowder laugh.

Dex quietly asks Pottery Girl for a cone-shaped mug. Chowder seems tempted by the money box in the shape of a shark, but he settles for a simple plate instead. Derek still has no idea what he wants to do.

“Nursey?” Chowder says, “Whatcha thinkin’ bro?”

“I dunno…” he looks at his friend, hoping for some help. He doesn’t like having to make decisions on days like this. Luckily Chowder gets the hint.

“What about something for your bedroom?” he suggests, “Those dorm rooms are all boring and dead-looking – maybe you could paint something colourful to light up your windowsill.”

“Yeah,” Derek nods, “Yeah, I like that.”

Chowder scans the shelf again, and then points to the top shelf. “Ooh, what about one of those?” Derek follows his hand. Several flower vases line the shelf. One is a gently curved pear shape, and it makes Derek smile.

“Can I have that vase, please?” Pottery Girl smiles and goes to fetch them from the cupboard under the stairs. She brings them to their table, where the boys are settling, Dex and Nursey opposite each other, Chowder in between them at the tables end.

The boys watch Pottery Girl wash the pieces quickly with a damp sponge before placing each one in front of them. Then she fetches a large wooden board from another table and brings it to them. Small coasters, each painted in a different, vibrant colour line the board. They’re each adorned with a number, ranging from 1 to 40.

“If you guys tell me which colours you’d like, I’ll put them in a palate for you.” She explains, waiting patiently.

Derek likes this – the easy system with which the store runs. It’s so simple and insignificant, but it matters to him, because it frees his mind slightly. Not for the first time today, Derek feels a rush of gratitude for Chowder.

“Ooh,” Chowder says, “Can I have nineteen, twenty-two, twenty-five…” he rattles off a multitude of numbers Derek is certain the girl won’t remember, but she just beams and nods. Dex just asks for “number three please”, and then it’s Derek’s turn.

“Ummm,” what does he want? He takes a look at his curvy vase, thinking about how nice it’ll be to see green stems poking out of the top. Green… he likes green.

“Could I have number twenty-three, please?”

Pottery Girl brings them each a curved plastic dish, with globs of their choices of paint. Derek notices that Chowder gets a bright smile with his palate. He catches Dex’s eye by accident, and the two exchange knowing smiles. Dex’s smile is nice, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, but Derek looks away quickly at that thought.

Pottery Girl is talking again, placing a pot of water between the three of them on the table. “You won’t need the water unless you’re changing colours. The water and the paint shouldn’t be mixed with each other, so you should dab the brush off on the paper towel before dipping it in the paint. Let me know if you need any help, okay?” she gives them all another beaming smile and ambles off to help another table.

Derek reaches for one of the thicker brushes, moving to dip it in his paint. Swiping the colour across his vase, the colour takes to the bisque with ease, immediately transforming the dull white to a calm, pale mint green.  The smooth, slow strokes with which he paints are leisurely, and he feels a quiet tranquillity as he dips his brush again. The table is quiet, and Derek wonders if the boys are feeling the same sort of calmness that has settled over him.

It takes longer than he expects, but he doesn’t want to mess up. Eventually his vase is an even shade of mint green, and Derek settles back to admire his handiwork. He takes the time to look up at his friends. Chowder’s plate is already a watery scene of fish and seaweed. There’s a splat of blue paint on his eyebrow. Dex, however, seems to be working slower than Derek. His mug is still only half covered in yellow paint, and Dex seems to be frowning at the cup as if confused by it.

“Hey Dex,” Derek ventures, “You alright there, bro?”

He looks up as if startled. “Huh? Oh. Yeah man, I’m sound.” He huffs. “I don’t know what to put on my cup.” He’s frowning so intently at it Derek thinks it’s a wonder he doesn’t bore a hole right through the porcelain.

Derek looks around for Pottery Girl and finds her organising a shelf across the shop. Without another word to Dex, he gets up and heads over to her. He says nothing, just lets his eyes roam the shelf, until they come to rest on a box of foam stamps. He grins. Perfect.

“Can I take these?” he asks with a smile, and Pottery Girl nods.

He plonks the basket on the table in front of Dex, who looks up, startled.

“Here.” Derek says, “Cover your mug with these.”

Dex reaches out a tentative hand for the basket, as if he’s unsure if this is a trick. But he must see the genuine face Derek is trying to make, because he smiles and picks a sailboat stamp out from the array. Soon his yellow mug is coated in a pretty blue pattern.

Derek turns back to his vase, now a beautiful cool green. He ponders a moment before picking out the thinnest paintbrush from the pot on the table. He asks Pottery Girl for a darker green, and determinately sets to work. He thinks of all the words he wants to write down when he gets home, of the words that others have written that have kept him here, of the words that come as naturally to him as breathing or sniffing a flower. He thinks of them all, and he writes them down.

Dex looks over half an hour later and whistles. “Wow, Nurse. That’s some swasome handwriting.”

Derek flushes slightly. “I used to get handwriting lessons at school, when I was little. Guess it sorta stuck.”

“Of course you did.” Dex snorts, but there is no malice in his tone. He catches Derek’s eye, and Derek finds himself smiling, his insides warming at the look on Dex’s face.

He and Dex aren’t fighting. It’s surprising, but not at all unwelcome. It’s almost like friendship. And it’s good. Derek likes the simplicity of that, takes comfort in the idea of him and Dex as being as straightforward and easy as it feels right now. Maybe partners isn’t such a strange word after all.

Derek listens to Chowder and Dex laugh and chirp each other, but he says very little. He’s glad Chowder dragged him out, but talking still takes more effort right now than Derek wants to put in. For all the trip has done to distract him, he still feels sluggish; he can feel sadness closing in, creeping, prowling along the edges of his mind. The boys, to their credit, leave him be, and he keeps painting. He keeps breathing. It helps.

The next time Derek looks up, the street outside is dark, streetlamps casting orange pools of light on the damp cobblestones. Instantly, panic floods his bones. Time has lost all meaning; Derek is suddenly scared, vulnerable and confused. He looks around desperately and finds Dex casting him uncertain glances.

“You okay, bro?” Dex asks.

“I-“ Derek starts, “I-Yeah, um, what time is it?”

Dex tosses his sleeve up to check his watch. “4.45. This place shuts at 5.”

Derek forces himself to take a breath, make the panic seep out through the exhale. It’s okay now. He knows the time. He nods.

“You done, Nurse?” Chowder asks.

Derek takes a long look at his vase, at the flowing letters circling its outsides. _The hands make the world every day…like a tree of veins your spectre…to see the world in a grain of seed and heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour…the bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower._ All the words, all the letters, the ones that have soothed Derek in the past, are lovingly brushed across his vase, immortalised in porcelain. He put them there. Now the poetry he loves will be there for him, without the effort of opening the books that is sometimes too painful. All he’ll need is to look at his windowsill. He feels a rush of pride, and suddenly grins wide, because he’s _proud of himself_. He’s proud of himself for feeling proud of himself. He laughs at the thought. Chowder and Dex look at him, amused.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “I’m all done.”

“S’wasome.” Chowder says. Dex excuses himself to go to the bathroom, and Derek sneaks a look at his mug. Chowder nudges him. “I’ve got an idea.”

When Dex returns, the trio grab their coats and head to Pottery Girl to pay. Derek pays for the vase and the mug before Dex can protest.

“Hey man, don’t, that’s not cool-“ he begins but Derek cuts him off.

“You bought the coffee earlier, this is basically the same price. Chill.” Dex opens his mouth, closes it again, like a fish. But then he smiles slightly, and Derek’s insides warm.

“Yeah, okay.”

They say a happy goodbye to Pottery Girl, who blushes behind her glasses and tells them their pieces will be out of the kiln in a week. They head out onto the chilly street together. Each boy feels his phone buzz.

“Sweet, Bitty made pie!” Chowder yells, throwing his arm around the other two’s necks and pulling them down the road. They laugh all the way to the Haus, their smiling breaths condensing in the cold air in front of them.

 

A week later, the boys go to pick up their pottery. Pottery Girl is there again, and she cheerfully brings three green bags out from behind the counter. Excitedly the three of them unwrap their potteries to take a look. Derek’s vase is beautiful; the green letters glistening for him, bringing a smile to his face. He glances at Chowder, who is happily showing Pottery Girl his plate. She’s laughing at his brace-filled smile. Dex is looking at his yellow mug with a small smile. He turns it over to look at the bottom and raises his eyebrows.

“Did one of you have anything to do,” he flips the mug, “With this?”

Derek and Chowder cackle. On the bottom, in blue letters, is written; _Property of a grumpy frog._ Dex laughs along with them as they put the pottery gently back in their bags, bid Pottery Girl goodbye and head out the door. As they’re walking down the street, Chowder pulls a piece of paper out of his bag and grins sheepishly.

“Yo, she put her number in C’s bag!” Dex laughs, slapping Chowder on the shoulder, “Nice one, bro.”

Derek laughs. He’s better this week, on his feet and going about his day like he would usually. He’s glad he’s out and about today. He can be proud of himself for the little things, and that’s good.

They round the corner of the street, coming out towards the big oak tree, next to a flower shop. Dex slows.

“You okay man?” Derek says.

“Yeah, just. One sec.” Dex darts inside the shop. Derek and Chowder share a confused look.

Dex emerges a few seconds later with a small bunch of pretty yellow flowers. A sunflower, surrounded by a few bittersweets. The soft gold is beautiful in the autumn light, and Derek can’t help but notice how well they match with Dex’s hair. To his complete surprise, Dex holds the bouquet out to him.

“Here,” he says gruffly, clearing his throat, “To put in your vase.”

Derek takes them, his eyes wide. Their fingers brush.

“I-“ he shakes his head, collects himself, and rearranges his face in a smile, “Aw, Dexy, you got me flowers? So sweet.”

Dex scowls. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whaaaat? Chowder calls you it, why don’t I get to?”

“Chowder’s special.”

Chowder giggles as Derek answers.

“But you got me flowers, so I must be special too!”

“I’ll fucking take them back, asshole.”

“Noooo, they’re mine!”

Derek takes out his vase the minute he gets home. It sits on his windowsill, the bright, yellow sunflower catching the rays of the setting sun, the bittersweets draping lazily against the rim.

_The bud may have a bitter taste, but sweet will be the flower._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](https://dozierosieposie.tumblr.com) pls come be my friend and yell at me abt these nerds   
> leave me some feedback i want to IMPROVE


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